


sugar and spice and something very, very nice

by simplyclockwork



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Baking, First Time, Frottage, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, POV John Watson, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex In The Kitchen, Sherlock's kinda dominant here, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 07:55:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23348047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplyclockwork/pseuds/simplyclockwork
Summary: John is baking a cake. Sherlock is interested in another kind of dessert.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 26
Kudos: 208





	sugar and spice and something very, very nice

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Сахар, специи и кое-что очень, очень приятное](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23961871) by [Little_Unicorn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Unicorn/pseuds/Little_Unicorn)



> My current WIP project is my Unilock fic, which I am (currently) planning to finish in entirety before posting. Since that might be a while from now, I thought I would dig up, rewrite, and finish some of the WIPs lurking in my laptop from back in 2011. So, enjoy.

John was baking.

It wasn't something he did often, but he found it relaxing, found it calming. Reminded him of his late mother. He didn’t get much time to do it, nor reason, seeing as Sherlock wasn't prone to indulging in sweets. Or eating much of anything. But there had been no new cases for days, and Sherlock was driving him up the wall. John was bored himself, and—for once—the kitchen was free of body parts. So he baked.

John wanted to make something he and Sherlock could both enjoy. Previously lost in one of his sulking fits, a week-long strop, Sherlock had abruptly disappeared from the flat earlier in the day. John settled on a simple vanilla cake, a favourite of his.

Mixing the icing led to distraction, a dribble slipping from the edge of the mixing spoon. It dropped to his wrist. Made its slow way along John’s forearm. He scowled, ducking his head to lick the sweet drip away. Sugar exploded on his tongue. 

A grin reshaping his mouth, John swiped a finger through the bowl. Scooped a line of icing and brought it to his mouth. Tongue flicking out, he lapped up the frosting, eyes sinking closed with a low hum. When they flashed open, his lips shifted into a naughty smile, like someone had caught him with his hand in the cookie jar. Allowing himself an uncharacteristic level of mischievous freedom, John scooped more icing out, this time with all five fingers of one hand. He pushed the tip of his thumb into his mouth, sucking with closed eyes. A soft noise, just short of a moan, slipped from his lips, John smiling around the digit.

"Well." The voice made John freeze. "This is certainly…interesting."

John's eyes snapped open. Sherlock was standing in the doorway of the kitchen. Leaning against the frame with arms folded over his chest, he watched John, eyebrow raised. John's cheeks went red, and he popped his thumb out of his mouth. Attempted to hide the hand behind his back.

"Sherlock.” His eyes widened, cheeks hot and flushed. “Ah, right, I was..." John edged toward the sink, forcing a mild smile. If he could just wash his hand… He cleared his throat. "I was going to make something. Wasn't sure if you were hungry, or—"Sherlock raised a hand, and John fell silent. Watched the detective enter the kitchen, walking toward him. No, not walking. 

_Prowling._

Sherlock moved toward him, hands brushing the edge of the table, and crowded John back against the counter. There was a predatory edge to his smirk. 

"Baking, John?" Sherlock’s voice was soft. Looming over him, the detective caught John’s wrist when it reached for the sink. "How… domestic.” Sherlock raised an eyebrow, the gesture a blend of sardonic admiration. “Never would have thought you the type." Lifting John’s arm, his eyes dropped to the four icing-covered fingers. The smile he aimed at John would look perfectly at home on a tiger.

"Yeah, well…” John stopped, needing to clear his throat again. Sherlock stroked his fingertips along the inside of John's wrist, scattering his thoughts. "You're not the only one who gets bored." He tried for a smile, and it came up weak, quivering under another of Sherlock’s dark grins.

"So it would seem." Sherlock dropped his own smile. His silvery eyes narrowed, studying John's icing-smeared hand with serious consideration. "The icing is good, I gather?"

John felt his cheeks burn and tried not to imagine how red his face must be. He moved to yank his hand free, but Sherlock was having none of it. He tightened his hold, almost to the point of pain, and John’s brows rose.

“Right, about that—" he fell silent, voice breaking off in a choking noise. Sherlock, ignoring John's flounder, bent his head. Kissed the tip of John's index finger and wiped the icing off with his mouth. His tongue flicked out, licking a sugary smear from his bottom lip. His eyes held John's, pupils blown wide.

"Mmm.” The noise was a low, vibrating hum deep in Sherlock’s throat. _“Very_ good." John's staring eyes fastened on the curve of Sherlock's mouth. His own tongue darted out, skating across his suddenly dry lips before disappearing. Chuckling, Sherlock flashed a grin and took John's index finger into his mouth.

Feeling as if his eyes might actually pop out of his head, John watched the detective swirl his tongue around John’s finger. Felt him trace to the third knuckle, John’s fingertip brushing the warm, wet inside of Sherlock’s cheek, and back to the nail, tongue caressing, tasting. Sherlock made a noise that set heat burning low in John’s stomach. Made the fine hair on his arms and the nape of his neck stand at attention. 

"Sherlock…” the name emerged breathy, shaking. Sherlock seemed oblivious. Eyes sliding shut, he sucked slowly, soft humming noises drifting up from his throat, vibrating around John's finger.

John shut his mouth, riveted. 

Finished with the first finger, Sherlock ran his tongue up the index one last time. Caught John’s eye as he pushed the middle finger into his mouth. Traced warm, wet lines over each knuckle. Rubbed his tongue over the print, sucking hard, Sherlock lapped icing away with light flicks of the tip of his tongue.

The next finger—the ring finger—brought teeth into the equation. Slow, gentle scraping, and undeniably sensual nibbling. The sensation was electrifying, sending shivers over John’s body. Jeans tight and uncomfortable, breath coming faster, pupils blown as wide as Sherlock’s, John watched intently. His free hand settled on Sherlock’s waist, fingers locking around tight muscle, pulling. Sherlock let himself be tugged closer, nipping John’s finger and dragging the icing off with his lips as they curved upwards. 

Sherlock moved onto his baby finger. John’s eyes threatened to roll back, legs beginning to shake, but he remained focused. Forced his lids open and stared. Watched Sherlock lick the end of his smallest finger, tracing his tongue along the crease between ring and pinky. Sherlock’s lips drifted along the side of his hand, making John’s breath stutter. Teeth roving across knuckles, Sherlock took the last icing-covered finger into his mouth and began a slow, lazy swipe with his tongue. 

John felt his body tremble, shaking with fire in his gut. Hand still wrapped around Sherlock’s waist, he dug nails into skin through fine silk. Sherlock smirked, looking at John with lowered lashes and darkened eyes. He chuckled, a rough, growling sound, setting a languid pace of sucking and licking along John’s finger. 

“Oh god, Sherlock.” The curse hissed out of John, his brain finally rediscovering the English language. His words were rewarded with Sherlock slipping his mouth off John’s hand, leaning to press his lips to John’s. There was icing across Sherlock’s teeth, tongue, and bottom lip and John made sure to taste every inch.

Groaning, John tangled his licked-clean hand in thick, soft curls. Dragged Sherlock closer, grinding against the hard flesh evident through Sherlock’s dress pants. The detective’s breath caught, a low moan emerging around the contact and friction. He laughed, a soft sound. Captured John’s bottom lip in his teeth. Tugging lightly, shifting his hands under John’s jumper, Sherlock pulled it up, fingers tracing the curves of John’s ribs.

“Delicious.” Sherlock’s voice was heavy with arousal, whispering against John’s lips. He traced his tongue over the seam of John’s mouth, seeking entrance. John parted his lips, moaning at the feeling of Sherlock’s tongue exploring with keen attention. Sherlock tasted like icing and _Sherlock_ , and John made a satisfied noise deep in his throat, leaning back to help Sherlock pull the wool jumper over his head. “And, I am not referring to just the icing,” Sherlock added, leaning down to slide his tongue along the side of John’s neck, over his collar bones.

Carding his fingers through Sherlock’s hair, John pulled the detective’s mouth to his. Slid his hands down the front of Sherlock’s shirt, working at the buttons. Getting them undone, tongue tangling lazily with Sherlock’s, John pushed the shirt away. Let it fall to the floor, hands moving over Sherlock’s bare chest. His thumb flicked over a nipple, and John tasted Sherlock’s answering moan. Revelled in the subtle shudder twitching over the other man’s skin.

In a sudden, jerky movement, Sherlock surged forward, pressing John against the counter. His mouth travelled over John’s neck and shoulders, moving over the old scar, tracing the edges with his lips. John dragged a thumb along the hem of Sherlock’s pants. Dipped his fingers under to stroke the sharp edges of a hip bone, bending his head to nip Sherlock’s neck. He left a mark, making Sherlock hum, fingers fumbling at John’s belt buckle. Undone, Sherlock let it fall to the floor with a clatter. John responded by attacking Sherlock’s own belt, ripping it from the loops.

“Eager, aren’t you?” Sherlock murmured. His chuckle was cut off, reshaped into a groan at the press of John’s hips against his. John let his head fall back, mouth open, grinding hard against Sherlock, hands grabbing at his waist.

“Fantastic deduction.” The words sighed out of John, and he raised higher on his toes to mouth at Sherlock’s ear, using teeth to tug at the soft skin of his earlobe. 

His body tensing, thrumming with energy, Sherlock planted his hands on either side of John. Gripped the counter until his knuckles went white. “Oh, John…” Tilting his head to the side, he seemed to lose himself to the slow, wet trail of kisses John drew over his neck. John’s hands drifted down his bare chest, tracing along the dip of his stomach, fingers hooking into the waist of his black pants. In one quick, slick movement, John slipped them down. Grabbing at John’s own boxers, Sherlock pushed them off, and they came together. Skin on skin, hot, wanting need, Sherlock pressing John hard against the counter. 

“Yes.” John was panting, fingernails drawing red lines of fire up Sherlock’s chest, down his back. “Oh, _yes,_ oh, Sherlock.” The angle was wrong, John too low, Sherlock too tall, throwing off any chance at a rhythm. Whining, growling, Sherlock bent. Locked his hands on the curve of John’s arse, hauling him up and around. John wrapped his legs around Sherlock’s waist, mouth fastened on Sherlock’s neck, sucking colour into pale skin. 

His back hit the edge of the table, and Sherlock pinned him there, rutting between John’s legs. John’s head fell back with a cry, eyes shut tight. His thighs gripped Sherlock with bruising strength, holding him in place. With his legs locked at the ankles, John bucked up, meeting Sherlock’s downward thrust, both of them gasping, seeking out each other’s mouths. Meeting with teeth and tongue and lips, breathing desperation and lust down the other’s throat. 

The slide was brutal, all friction and heat until John felt his tip leaking, and their pre-come slicked the way. Sherlock’s hand hit the tabletop, fingers splayed, planted in place. Head bent, curls hanging in his closed eyes, Sherlock's other hand dug bruises into John’s lower back, cradling him against his body. 

“John, John, _John.”_ His name dropped from full, Cupid’s Bow lips in a panting litany, driving John to the edge and over. Sherlock’s cock slid against his, slick and hot, and John’s eyes flew open, his climax shooting out of him with a breathless cry. His legs tightened, drawing Sherlock closer, nails scrabbling at the detective’s shoulder as he shuddered and spilled between them. Their releases mixed, pooling on John’s lower stomach, warm and sticky.

“Ah- _ahhhh_ , Sherlock…” John breathed. Eyes closed, he fumbled. Found Sherlock’s face, fingers tracing the shape of cheekbones, and bringing their mouths together. John sucked Sherlock’s bottom lip and tasted sugar. 

They broke apart, Sherlock staring into his face with dark, hooded eyes. Their heavy breathing mingled, combined panting filling the kitchen with a rhythmic pattern of laboured inhale-exhale. Sherlock’s face shifted, transformed from slated lust to amusement by a wide grin. He bent, nuzzling into John’s neck.

“You should bake more often.” 


End file.
